So I'm on the east coast for very upsetting reasons, my wonderful mother-in-law passed away a few days Friday, but I'm not here to talk about that, no, I'm here to talk about snow, the cold, and murder. It is very cold outside, at least it looks cold. It is currently 20 degrees where I am, which to me is more than cold, or freezing, I'm not sure this California girl knows exactly how to describe what 20 degrees is, but I'm wondering where the polar bears are. This cottony white stuff is falling from the sky and it itself doesn't look all that cold, it looks fluffy and fun, like I could go out and spin some yarn to make a sweater to fight the cold, but it isn't. It is dreary. I know if I were to walk outside right now I would be bitten by the cold, harsh needles would be jabbed into my skin and my fingertips would instantly redden and want to fall off.
Snow is not cotton. Snow is not friendly. Snow is the bane of my existence when I am on the east coast.
At this moment, looking out the window at the white stuff falling from the sky, I understand the meaning of cabin fever, and I understand why someone would kill those they are in a house with. It's maddening. It's too cold and wet and cold and really maybe a little dangerous to go outside right now. The snow is deep, and getting deeper with each passing second. The snowflakes whisper, "come play with us, for ever and ever and ever" just like a pair of creepy little girls in a creepy book about a haunted hotel and a sick father.
I might listen to them. The cold might be getting to me. I know why people murder people when it's snowing. It's too cold to go outside. It's too boring to stay inside all the time. Murder would give me something to do, then maybe the snow could be my graveyard.
Then again, I might just be trying to distract my self from the reality of death by thinking about the reality of the cold, homicidal snow.
Snow is not cotton. Snow is not friendly. Snow is the bane of my existence when I am on the east coast.
At this moment, looking out the window at the white stuff falling from the sky, I understand the meaning of cabin fever, and I understand why someone would kill those they are in a house with. It's maddening. It's too cold and wet and cold and really maybe a little dangerous to go outside right now. The snow is deep, and getting deeper with each passing second. The snowflakes whisper, "come play with us, for ever and ever and ever" just like a pair of creepy little girls in a creepy book about a haunted hotel and a sick father.
I might listen to them. The cold might be getting to me. I know why people murder people when it's snowing. It's too cold to go outside. It's too boring to stay inside all the time. Murder would give me something to do, then maybe the snow could be my graveyard.
Then again, I might just be trying to distract my self from the reality of death by thinking about the reality of the cold, homicidal snow.
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